Project Janus
by Cthulhu-is-Chaotic-Good
Summary: MI6 was faced with a new, terrorist threat - Cypher. Their solution? An Alex-Yassen teamup. Problems ensue.
1. Chapter 1

After the fiasco in Egypt, Tulip Jones had been, if not happy to see Alex Rider go to live as a normal schoolboy with the Pleasures, at least satisfied that she would not use her time as the Head of Special Operations employing a newly fifteen-year-old child. Alan Blunt had told her that once she entered office she would need to make the hard decisions.

She had been determined that employing Alex Rider was one decision she would not make.

That conviction lasted two months.

Tulip Jones had a weekly check-in with Edward Pleasure starting with the first week Alex arrived in America. The first three weeks Edward gave her a brief overview of Alex settling in to a new school and new city. The boy was quiet and mainly kept to himself, but he participated in hangouts with Sabina and her friends. He was eating and sleeping regularly, as far as Mr. Pleasure could tell.

The fourth phone call came early. Edward Pleasure sent a text, before he called. Tulip didn't know what she had expected when she opened the text, but it wasn't what she saw.

Wires and machinery inside of a particularly common U.S.P.S. mailing box.

The CIA operative who watched the Pleasures saw the package and tested it. They were able to safely diffuse the mail bomb before anyone was damaged.

Edward Pleasure was furious.

Tulip asked if Alex had been told and was told that he had. She asked if she could speak to Alex and was firmly refused.

The fifth week there was a deluge of calls to the Pleasure household from unknown numbers. When the family picked up, they were greeted with the sound of someone begging for help.

The sixth week the calls continued, and letters with death threats began to arrive. In an unrelated series of events, that week a series of bombings in London began that would continue for months. A group named Cypher took credit.

The seventh week a sniper took a shot at Sabina Pleasure. The remnants of SCORPIA sent a card to the Pleasures, the CIA, and MI6 claiming credit. Further details in the letter were hidden from Alex.

The eighth week Alex Rider asked to speak to Mrs. Jones. He said he was planning to return to his house in Chelsea. The Pleasures had argued with him, but they weren't his legal guardians. MI6 was. Tulip Jones granted Alex's request without any questions.

If she had ulterior motives behind her easy acceptance, they didn't occur to Alex.

After her call with Alex, Tulip returned her attention to the file on her desk. She reread the file for the fourth time. Then she went to the cells below MI6. She needed to talk to the prisoner in cell 5.

-AR-

Immediately after arriving in London Alex found himself, again, at the office of the Special Operations Head of MI6, in the fifteenth floor of 'The Royal and General Bank' on Liverpool Street.

Alex took a seat.

"Alex, I wish I wasn't seeing you soon," Mrs. Jones said.

He said nothing.

The office looked much the same as it had under Alan Blunt's time in office. Blunt kept a neat desk with minimal furniture in the office. His desk and surrounding office were adorned with no personal photos, only a silver pen. Mrs. Jones, in contrast, kept an entire pen holder, and she had significantly more files on her desk than Alan Blunt tended to keep. But the absence of a personality remained. Unless the clear glass jar of peppermints counted for a character trait. If Alex had expected to see a photo of her missing children or a pair of elderly parents, he would have been wrong.

"Everything that happened at the Pleasures was unfortunate," Mrs. Jones continued. Alex gazed at her with serious brown eyes. "And I am sincerely sorry to say that the few devoted SCORPIA members who we have been in contact with seem intent on following you wherever you go."

SCORPIA. Again. Alex hadn't been adjusting as well to life with the Pleasures as he'd tried to make it seem. But they had accepted him, and he had liked the school. The school had a drama program that Alex had considered trying out for, and a book club that Sabina happily chattered about on the bus between school and home. And then SCORPIA had returned.

They'd killed someone just to send a message. A boy Alex hadn't even known, had maybe passed a few times in the hallway. Just to show that they could get at people that were close to him if they wanted. He couldn't stay there.

He couldn't go back to Brookland either, while SCORPIA was a threat. Alex could barely think about what this meant for the rest of his life.

Alex folded his arms. "What are you doing about this?"

Mrs. Jones reached for a peppermint.

"I can't get into the specifics, but I promise that quite a lot is happening behind the scenes."

"I thought SCORPIA was done," Alex said.

"You did a remarkable job taking down an international criminal organization, Alex. But that's the problem. SCORPIA was an international criminal organization. Its reach extended around the world. For all intents and purposes, SCORPIA's reputation has been tarnished beyond repair. I haven't heard of anyone that is still trusting them to carry out contracts or operations. Yet they remain. Weak, and getting weaker."

"Strong enough to have a grudge."

"Yes," Mrs. Jones admitted. "Several of their executive board still remain, and they are each quite powerful in their own regards. Duval, Dr. Three, Mikato…to name a few. They would all prefer a world without you in it."

"Which reminds me of my question," Alex replied, finding himself getting quite a bit more frustrated. "What are you doing about it?"

Mrs. Jones picked up a pen and tapped it thoughtfully. "I have a few ideas that I would like to hear your thoughts on. We have several safehouses around the country, for one idea."

"No. I'm not living my life with a false identity."

"It's the most feasible solution."

"No," Alex repeated.

"Very well." Mrs. Jones chewed on her peppermint. "There is always what we have done before, when we received threats on your life."

Alex realized in seconds what was being proposed. "You want to hide me on a mission."

"There is a situation where your skills and identity could come in useful."

He didn't respond to that. Mrs. Jones nodded, and told Alex to think about his decision. A knock on the door interrupted Alex's cold goodbye. Alex paused while a man in his thirties came inside. The man glanced awkwardly at Alex before looking at Mrs. Jones.

"The prisoner is on his way, ma'am," he said.

"Good." Mrs. Jones stood and walked to the door. "Goodbye, Alex. I'll have a car drive you home."

Alex waited for the elevator to arrive, thoughts swirling. Could he stand another mission? Could he live with himself if he just returned to normal life and someone else was hurt?

He knew with a feeling of mixed reluctance and sick excitement that he was going to accept Jones' mission.

The elevator opened, and Alex stepped to the side so that a group of armed guards could step onto the floor. Warily he eyed the guards. This had to be the prisoner. Alex remembered his own time in MI6's cells all too well, from his brief journey into joining SCORPIA. He wondered what the prisoner had done.

Alex tried to catch sight of the man in the middle of the armed guards and froze. He knew him. The blond hair, the dancer like movements, the blue eyes.

Yassen Gregorovich looked back at him.


	2. Chapter 2

"You're dead," Alex said.

Except the evidence from his eyes told him that he wasn't. Yassen was alive.

MI6 had lied to him. Again.

Yassen said nothing, although his cool blue eyes continued to examine Alex. If he was shocked to see the teenage spy in front of him, he didn't look it.

"Move," one of the guards said, and they continued to walk towards Mrs. Jones' office.

It only took Alex a second to follow.

The guard in front opened the door to Mrs. Jones office, and Yassen walked inside, trailed by two other guards. Alex tried to shadow them into the office. The former guard in front stuck out his hand, blocking Alex's way.

"Let me in," Alex said.

Inside the room, Mrs. Jones looked up from her desk.

"James," she said, "Walk Alex to the car downstairs?"

"Yes ma'am," the guard blocking the door said. He put a hand on Alex's arm. "We're going downstairs," he said firmly.

His other hand was holding a gun.

Alex allowed himself to be led to the elevator, and down to a waiting black car. His thoughts were swirling.

-AR-

Yassen Gregorovich took a seat in front of the desk of the head of Special Operations of MI6. He knew who she was. She had come to visit him in the space below MI6 on three separate occasions. Once, shortly after Yassen was taken out of the hospital and taken into MI6's custody, he had been brought into an interrogation room where she had been waiting. Jones had pressed him particularly hard on what he had said to Alex Rider on Air Force One. Her irritation at his silence was clear. Yassen had smiled. So the youngest Rider was off to find SCORPIA.

The second time Jones had visited him had been after what Yassen estimated was two weeks of particularly rough treatment at the hands of MI6. At that point he hadn't been allowed a razor, and he'd had an unkempt beard. His clothes were not satisfactory for the climate in the cell. Loud noises had been emitted from his walls to stop him from sleeping or thinking, the temperature had switched between just above freezing and just below burning, and every few hours guards came into the room, handcuffed Yassen, and dragged him into an interrogation room for a litany of questions. The fifty-ninth time he had arrived in the interrogation cell, Jones had been there. She asked him several of the usual questions about SCORPIA's whereabouts, about who Yassen reported to within the organization for assignments, and about the directors of SCORPIA. Throughout it all, he didn't speak.

And then she gave him the news.

Alex Rider had been shot.

She had pictures, and she had showed them to him.

Yassen's expression had flickered, and he had known instantly that whatever coldness he was projecting had been damaged.

He still wouldn't talk to Jones, or the interrogators, and after what seemed endless days, MI6's rough treatment had stopped.

But in attempting to break through to him with her information, Yassen had gathered information of his own. Alex Rider was still alive. The pictures she had were of the boy immediately post-surgery. And she had not declared the child _dead_, only shot.

Alex had not stayed with SCORPIA. He was not handcuffed to his prison bed, as Yassen had been for the short while he was in the hospital instead of in MI6's tender care. Jones did not say 'we shot him', as she might have if the boy had continued his dalliance with the terrorist group that Yassen had aligned himself with for now 16 years.

This news was not as welcome as the idea of Alex being alive.

Of course, Yassen knew that John had been working for MI6. And Alex had been raised by an MI6 spy, Ian Rider. It was natural that the child should stay with what he knew. Yet Yassen had hoped that SCORPIA would teach the boy how to survive past the age of 14. Instead he had been shot.

Yassen had decided to content himself with the fact that Alex was alive.

The third time Jones had spoken to Yassen Gregorovich had been no less interesting. Three days ago she had arrived in the small room that he rarely left, the room monitored by cameras at all times. And she had brought a file.

"I imagine you have some questions about the world on the outside," she had said without preamble.

Yassen had said nothing. By this point his good behavior had earned him 'rewards' of books and magazines, but they were always screened for content. There were language books, as he had requested, and other materials, but any mention of terrorism or crime, real or imaginary, was carefully scrubbed. Information on what was happening in the world was similarly denied to him.

"And I imagine you're tired of being here," she had continued when it was clear she was earning no response. "In a few days you are going to be offered a deal. For that deal to work, you need to have read everything in these papers, and be prepared to talk about them."

She had handed the file to Yassen. He had taken it. After waiting a moment for a response and getting none, she had nodded curtly and departed.

And now Yassen Gregorovich was meeting Jones again, for a fourth time. Except this time the room was considerably nicer than the whitewashed walls of the interrogation rooms they had met in before.

Yassen examined her and wondered how long ago the director of Special Operations at MI6 had planned to reintroduce Alex Rider to a man he thought dead under the guise of a 'coincidence'. It was clear that Alex hadn't known he had survived Cray's bullet. The shock on the boy's face had been real. Yassen's death was a convenient fiction, even he himself could admit it. Alex Rider had attempted to kill him once before, and then ran off to Italy on advice Yassen had given him. The boy could try any number of things if he knew Yassen was alive.

"You can leave us," Jones told the guards standing behind Yassen. They nodded and left the room, closing the door behind them.

It was true that she was in no danger. Yassen was handcuffed. He was certain Jones had a gun. More importantly, this was the headquarters of at least a portion of MI6, and even if he could get her in a vice with a gun to her head, a sniper would take him out before he knew what had happened.

He had the urge to kill her anyway.

"Did you read the file?" Jones asked.

"Yes," Yassen said. He had. Several times.

The news clippings of SCORPIA's sudden near demise was a shock. The internal MI6 reports that attributed much of the organization's downfall to a 14 – now 15- year old boy would have been a much larger shock if Yassen had not met the boy in question.

"So you know that your employer is in no position to bargain for your release."

"I would rather guess," Yassen said, "That they don't know I am alive to bargain for."

"No," Jones agreed. She reached for a peppermint. "As far as the world is concerned, Yassen Gregorovich is dead."

Yassen examined her silently. He had figured as much the moment Alex had said the words 'you're dead'. However short a time the boy had been with SCORPIA, just a couple of weeks it seemed from the papers they had given him, he had been with SCORPIA. If SCORPIA knew he was alive and Alex asked about him, Alex would know that Yassen was alive.

"Do you know the name Topher Griffin?" Jones asked.

"No."

Jones nodded as if that was to be expected. "He is the leader of a small group named Cypher, so named because they regularly crack the codes guarding the secrets of many nations. He founded Cypher in the 1980s, and they have been growing steadily since then. For a long time, despite their growth, they kept the appearances of remaining small, and stayed in the realm of selling military secrets back to the nations that they stole them from."

The director reached for a file on her desk, opened it, and spread a few news clippings in front of her, facing Yassen.

"They are taking advantage of SCORPIA's falling star to make a name for themselves. They began a series of bombings in central London last month. We've had three bombs go off so far. One hundred and twenty-two casualties, not to mention those who were injured." Jones tapped the headline of one of the papers. 'Cypher Demands Millions from British Government to Stop Bombings'. "They're making demands they know we can't meet, in order to raise public awareness of their name. They want to be more of a household name than SCORPIA ever was, with big buyers."

Yassen let his gaze wander over the articles. They hadn't been picked for their sentimentality. These were not articles that dwelled on the faces of the victims, but articles that spoke hard facts about the crimes themselves.

"SCORPIA killed a boy," Jones said. "He went to Alex's new school, and they sent a letter to the family that took Alex in saying that 'next time it would be one of them'." She rested a hand on the files next to her. "Alex is refusing the protection we're offering in a safehouse. The alternative is to send him where SCORPIA can't find him. I am choosing to offer Alex a role as an MI6 defector, making his way to Cypher." She met Yassen's eyes and let him take in the situation.

"It's a suicide mission," Yassen said flatly. "He'll die alone. Griffin won't believe him." Yassen had known Alex Rider from the moment he had laid eyes on him because the boy was Hunter's son. Now, if everything Yassen had read was to be believed, Alex had enough of a profile for others to recognize him and know who he was. Alex could lie well enough to play a schoolboy when no one suspected anything. But Cypher would suspect something. They could torture Alex for the truth, or not allow him to meet anyone knowledgeable enough to give him information that was important, and kill Alex when his petty information was leaked.

"I agree," Mrs. Jones said. "Which is why I'm not proposing to send him alone."

-AR-

Alex let himself into his house in Chelsea without fighting to be taken back to the Royal and General. The man who had driven him there had parked in the driveway and seemed intent on staying. Fine with Alex. If he had ever needed a bodyguard, now was the time.

He left his suitcases in the kitchen and went and crawled into bed. The past few weeks had been a nightmare of increasingly large proportions, and now to top it off he had to face thinking about everything that had happened today. A 13-hour flight, a meeting with Mrs. Jones where she had basically said he needed to go on another mission if he wanted protection, and a dead man walking.

Alex wasn't surprised that MI6 had lied to him another time. He was surprised that they had been able to hide it for so long.

How many months ago now did they tell him Yassen Gregorovich was dead?

And Alex had believed them!

For all that he knew that the agency was manipulative and cunning, Alex had believed that Yassen was dead because he'd seen the man dying with his own eyes. Slumped on the floor of an airplane spiraling in space with little control, Yassen had been pale and motionless. Dead.

Except not.

And only a chance meeting outside Mrs. Jones office had let him know that the man was still alive. If it was a coincidence. Ian Rider had joked at one point that coincidences had to be taken cautiously, and Alex had laughed, not knowing at the time how paranoid his uncle must have been, living a double life as a spy.

Ian Rider!

He had raised Alex for years, several of those years by himself. He had been Alex's friend, and his uncle, even if the man hated the word. He had also been either training Alex for the career of being a spy, or at the least, giving Alex a particularly well-rounded education that had saved his life many times.

And Yassen Gregorovich had killed him.

Where had the man been all this time? The guard had mentioned a prisoner in a cell, which had to have meant Yassen. The man's hands had been handcuffed in front of him, and he'd been wearing plain white shirt and black sweatpants. Exactly the sort of anonymous clothes that Alex would associate with the prison cells below MI6. Had Yassen been there at the same time as Alex had been, months ago after he had attempted to shoot Mrs. Jones?

The cell Alex had been in was tiny, barely ten paces by four. But surely they had larger cells, if they were keeping people there for longer periods of time. Or perhaps not.

Did Alex care? Yassen was a murderer. A kidnapper. He'd tried to kill Mr. Pleasure as well and taken Sabrina captive; all for money. He embodied SCORPIA's mentality that nothing was personal if it paid. Alex should be glad that the man was buried underground in a tiny cell.

Alex closed his eyes and rolled to a side. He hadn't even changed into pajamas, but it didn't matter. For now, he would sleep. Tomorrow he would go to the bank and not leave until he had answers.


	3. Chapter 3

"I need to see Mrs. Jones," Alex insisted at the front desk. The woman there, looking significantly more annoyed than she had the last five times Alex had repeated his need to get upstairs, again shook her head in denial.

"I'm afraid there is no Mrs. Jones here," she said again.

Guards stood next to the elevators and the door to the stairway. Alex had tried to just enter the elevator, but a guard had turned him away.

Alex looked up at the ceiling of the ground floor of MI6. He could see small cameras blinking red. Watching him. Mrs. Jones probably didn't spend any amount of time looking at security feed of the first floor, unfortunately for him. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number he'd been given for emergencies.

"Alex," Mrs. Jones said, almost immediately after picking up. "Is there a reason you're in my lobby right now?"

"You know why," Alex replied. "You told me he was dead."

Mrs. Jones hung up. Alex looked at his cell phone, starting to feel as annoyed as the front desk woman, when the elevator opened, and a man dressed in a dark navy suit stepped out. He was wearing a headset. He scanned the lobby and quickly found Alex.

"Mr. Rider?" the man said.

"Yes?"

"Come with me, please." The man led the way back into the elevator and stood quietly as they ascended. His body was relaxed, hands folded in front of him.

"Come here often?" Alex asked. The man ignored him.

Soon they were on the fifteenth floor. Alex stepped out, but the man behind him didn't follow. Shrugging, Alex walked to Mrs. Jones door. He almost let himself in before considering that it was perhaps polite to knock.

Mrs. Jones opened the door before he had the chance.

"Alex," she said. She stood back and allowed him to come in.

Alex stared at the man inside. "Wasn't he wearing handcuffs yesterday?"

"And dead, apparently," Yassen Gregorovich said, dryly.

"Take a seat," Mrs. Jones said.

"I'll stand." Alex stood behind the second chair in front of the desk. Somehow sitting next to the hired killer that had sent him to an organization Alex had since helped destroy didn't seem like a great idea. At least if something happened now, Alex had the ability to leap away.

Mrs. Jones took her own seat behind the desk. She smiled calmly. "I'm sure you have several questions."

"Oh, loads," Alex said. "Do you want them in any order, alphabetical order, or me to ignore the questions and just talk about how you lied to me?"

Mrs. Jones nodded in acceptance, although her smile didn't fade. "Alan made the decision to lie, and I followed it. I'm not going to apologize, Alex, because I believed then that it was for the best."

"And me thinking that he's dead isn't for the best anymore," Alex said. "For who? You, or Blunt, or all of England?"

"I'll get to that," Mrs. Jones agreed.

"Perhaps you should sit down," Yassen said.

Alex glared. The last time the man had told him to sit down, it was before he'd made Alex dress as a matador and sent him to fight a bull.

Now that he was looking at Yassen, Alex noticed the smaller details that hadn't immediately stood out. Yassen was no longer wearing the prisoner garb that he had worn yesterday. He had on jeans and a black polo shirt. And he was wearing a watch – a nice one. He hadn't been wearing that yesterday. Alex tried to remember the last time he had seen the man, on Air Force One. Had Yassen been wearing that then? He must have been, Alex decided, and then it had been returned to him. What was the alternative, he went out and bought a watch? MI6 gave him one?

"Nice watch," Alex said. He didn't sit down.

Yassen raised an eyebrow and turned to face the Special Operations Head.

"You want to tell me why he's not in handcuffs?" Alex demanded. "Because I felt a bit more comfortable when they were on."

His sudden anger, now that it had arrived, came in force. And now Alex was furious. At everyone. Alan Blunt, Mrs. Jones, Yassen Gregorovich – every single one of them was responsible for putting Alex in this situation of going to MI6 to ask to be kept safe from a terrorist group that he _never_ should have been near.

Mrs. Jones blinked. "I really will get to that, Alex. Take a seat."

"I said I'd rather not," Alex returned. "I want to know why he's not dead. And why you told me he was. And where he's been the past few months, and why he's conveniently _here_ right now when I didn't have any idea he wasn't rotting in the ground somewhere."

"I'm not dead because of modern medicine. I imagine they told you I was because you can be easy to rile up, and things were calmer if I remained dead. I have been here since the hospital, and we were together on Air Force One before that. I am here right now because of what your director is about to propose." Yassen turned to look at Alex once again. "Any more questions?"

"I still don't know why you're not in handcuffs." Alex stared at expressionless face of the man who had beaten death.

"That," Yassen responded as he turned back around, "Will be answered when you sit down."

Alex, grudgingly, sat down.

Mrs. Jones gaze flickered between the two of them. "Well," she said. "Alex, if you remember, I asked you yesterday what you thought about working while we deal with securing your personal safety."

"And the safety of others," Alex said. "I don't want anybody dead because they know me."

"Is that a yes?" Mrs. Jones asked.

Alex hesitated only a moment before he nodded, angry he was so easy to manipulate into taking the role MI6 offered him.

Mrs. Jones took two files from in front of her. She passed the first one to Yassen. He took it.

Alex took the file that was slid across the desk to him. He opened it and looked at the name of the operation, in large letters across the page.

"Really," he said, unimpressed. He glanced at the assassin to see his reaction, and was met with a placid, if not skeptical, expression.

**Operation: Fallen Angel** had only a short mission brief under the name. Alex read it quickly, taking in the details and processing what they meant for his life. Then he stared in disbelief at Mrs. Jones. "You want me to work with _him_? The SCORPIA hitman? He'll turn me over to SCORPIA the first chance he gets." Alex faced Yassen. "Do you know what I did? SCORPIA's dying in part because of me. You sent the wrong person there."

"I'm aware of your participation in recent events," Yassen said. He didn't expand. He also didn't look surprised at the mission, or Alex's reluctance.

"This is why he's not wearing handcuffs," Alex realized. "You're trusting him. You're trusting him not to kill me, or run away from this, or betray you. You can't be serious."

"We have conditions to this deal," Mrs. Jones said. "Mr. Gregorovich is going to have a tracker implanted in his arm. If he attempts to go off grid, the tracker will lead us straight to him. And the conditions for getting the tracker out require you being returned from the mission. Alive."

"How comforting," Alex muttered.

"You're not in any danger from me," Yassen said.

"From you?"

Yassen shrugged. "I think this is a bad idea. I think we will both be in danger, you more than me."

"Then why are you doing it?" Alex asked.

"Freedom," Yassen said simply.

Alex looked back at the mission briefing. He reread it.

He recognized the name Topher Griffin vaguely. He'd been in the news. He was the man who ran Cypher, the group that had been bombing London.

The background the file gave on Cypher was brief. Cypher was a terrorist group that had been active since the 1990s. Originally a small group run by Topher Griffin and three of his friends, Cypher had hacked several intelligence sites and stolen secrets from governments around the world. For a high price, they had sold the secrets back to their original governments. And if the governments who owned the secrets didn't pay, Cypher sold them to someone else.

The demise of SCORPIA and the weakening of several affiliated groups such as the Snakeheads had opened a hole in the criminal underworld. A hole that Cypher was destined to fill. Terrorism, trafficking, drugs - Cypher had began to take over criminal industries around the world. But their main goal seemed to be inducing governments to pay to keep the threat of terrorism at bay.

Alex was supposed to be playing himself, only a disenchanted version of himself. _That shouldn't be hard. _Supposedly, Alex had known all along that Yassen Gregorovich was alive and imprisoned in MI6. Then Alex had managed to sneak into the cells to release Yassen and convinced the man to take him to Cypher.

"Why would you say yes?" Alex asked. "I release you, great, then you find out about me taking down SCORPIA and just say, what, 'That sounds great Alex, I'll follow you go join another terrorist group'."

"Attachment," Yassen said.

Alex studied Yassen. The man had confessed to caring about Alex deeply when he thought he was dying. If anyone knew Yassen's connection with Alex's father, Yassen could probably sell caring enough about Alex to follow him to a more successful organization that paid people to kill others.

"Why would Griffin take me? I'm part of the reason behind SCORPIA's downfall."

"Exactly for that reason. You helped eliminate the competition," Mrs. Jones said.

"They will ask you to prove yourself." Yassen appeared nonplussed at his own words. Alex realized in a panic what those words signified.

"I can't kill anyone. I won't." He wasn't John Rider, who had gone deep undercover in SCORPIA, even when it meant killing others to prove that he was a master assassin. Alex had killed people, in self-defense. But he wasn't a killer.

"You'll tell that to Topher Griffin," Mrs. Jones replied. "I think you will be valuable enough in other ways for him to take you on." Her eyes flicked to Yassen. Alex realized with a sinking feeling that this wouldn't just work because Alex had the reputation he did. It would work because _Yassen_ had his own reputation. If Alex wouldn't kill, that's fine. He was offering someone who did. Who killed well.

"You're giving a murderer a gun and turning him loose on the world." It wasn't a question.

Neither Mrs. Jones nor Yassen acknowledged that statement. Alex tried a different tact.

"Why am I angry enough at MI6 to run away and join another terrorist group?"

"Perhaps because their mode of protection includes sending you on missions that may kill you faster than SCORPIA ever could?"

Yassen, Alex was getting the definite feeling, was not a fan of MI6.

Mrs. Jones had the grace to glance away from Alex at that.

"Fine," Alex said, his anger wearing away. "I guess I don't need a disguise, because I'm playing myself. Or an elaborate cover story. When are we starting?"

-AR-

Yassen watched dispassionately as the needle containing the MI6 tracker plunged into his arm. The nurse doing so, if nurse was her primary occupation, pulled the needle out and then checked something on her computer screen.

"We're all set," the woman said cheerfully. "Want to see?"

Yassen moved himself to see the computer screen. A yellow dot was on the screen, placed in the middle of London.

The tracker was a problem.

"If you try to take it out without the opposite end of the magnetic device, it won't work and will probably cause a great deal of pain." The nurse made a face. "So don't try?"

Yassen nodded. He absorbed the information that the tracker was removed using a magnet. That could help him remove it later.

"Is he done?" The guard at the door asked.

The nurse agreed he was, and the guard motioned for Yassen to follow him. As Yassen did, he took in the sights of the building he had been trapped in for several months.

He had a false feeling of freedom. For the past few months his world had consisted of a small white box with little more than a bed, table, and an alcove for a shower and toilet. Occasionally there were other small white rooms. His clothes had arrived clean and folded at the beginning of each day, along with food and sometimes entertainment.

Now he was walking in carpeted beige hallways among larger rooms with only one guard sauntering in front of him. He was about to be released into the world. Although with a tracker included.

It would take a while for the feeling of being trapped to go away.

It would take a while to adjust to people. And if what Jones had told Yassen of her expectations remained the status quo, Yassen had the job of keeping a teenager close to him. A teenager that did not seem impressed by the idea of working with him.

Yassen trailed the guard into what could best be described as a workshop.

A rather obese man and Alex were inside already. The fat man looked at Yassen and then away rather quickly. Alex kept considering the object in his hand.

"I thought these were mostly for younger kids," the boy said.

"Nonsense, old chap!" the man exclaimed. "Fidget spinners are for all ages. Why, I know adults that use them."

"What does it do?" Alex held up a tri-pointed metal toy by one corner and swung it from side to side. Each of the points had a different colored circle in it.

"Well, it's fingerprint activated, for one thing. No one except you can use it. There's a laser in the center, and if you point the gadget at anything and press the yellow button three times, a laser will come out of the center and cut through whatever the toy is near."

"What happens if I press the blue button?"

"Then the spinner will emit a rather loud noise."

"What about the red button?"

"We at headquarters will get a brief recording of your surroundings. It will send us a 30 second clip of everything in front of the device." Smithers clapped a hand on Alex's shoulder cheerily, then took a seat behind a crowded work desk.

The guard that had escorted Yassen into the room positioned himself near the door. Yassen stepped into the room and took a seat beside the desk. Piles of assorted wires and nuts and bolts lay scattered around the desk.

The obese man opened a drawer and took out a watch.

"You've had one of these before, I think," Smithers said. "It's a simple tracking device."

"That's all?"

"Funny you should mention that old chap, and don't look so disappointed, because that's not all. In fact, if you set the watch up for the time 12 noon or midnight – and you have to set it, this won't happen when the hands just happen to pass 12 o'clock – this particular watch sends out a small dart from this red button right here. In fact, the button itself is fake. But the dart is very real. Wait thirty seconds after it hits someone, and they'll be knocked out cold."

"Smithers, this is incredible," Alex said.

"It's something," the man said modestly.

"He doesn't need toys," Yassen said. "He needs a gun."

"You want to give me a gun," Alex said in disbelief.

"Yes, well," Smithers said. He twisted his hands together. "Orders are orders, I'm afraid. Weapons for you, gadgets for Alex here."

"Then I'll get him a gun once we leave."

"Have you considered that I don't particularly want a gun?" Alex rebutted.

Yassen's years of experience gave him little interest in what the boy wanted.

"You're taller than the last time I saw you. You are older. You have a little time left as a child spy, perhaps, but you have lost the element of surprise. These toys may save you if no one is watching you fiddle with one. If they are, you will be dead. Unless you have a gun."

"Well, I may be able to help with that," Smithers cut in. "I assume a grenade can help in a bad situation." A small iPod was given to Alex. "Selecting the artist 'California Raisons' will turn this into a grenade with a 45 second countdown. Don't worry, nothing will happen if they come on shuffle."

"That's great."

"That's not a gun." Yassen said.

"With the first few gadgets this might be the best haul I've gotten," Alex said, ignoring the assassin. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Smithers clapped his hands together in delight. "Now, Mr. Gregorovich, I have some slightly different ideas for you."

"Let me guess," Alex said sarcastically. "One of them is a gun."

"Quite right." The man reached for a box at the corner of his desk and handed it to Yassen.

Yassen opened the lid and picked up the gun. It was a modified Glock 17. Not his favorite weapon, but it would do well enough.

"I wanted to make it fingerprint activated, so if anyone else got a hold of the gun, they couldn't shoot with it. Unfortunately, that would look rather suspicious for a weapon you acquired either in a prison break or shortly after one. I did get the chance to include a few bonus features though, that others won't know to look for."

Yassen listened to the man explain his enhancements for the weapon, and his modifications for two other devices he gave Yassen. SCORPIA would not have gone to the effort MI6 was going to in order to create unique weaponry that could not be detected for such a mission, but that was for their own reasons. For one, SCORPIA knew that if the weaponry was detected, their agent's cover would be blown. For another, SCORPIA believed in thoroughly training their representatives in how to craft their own weapons out of almost nothing. SCORPIA agents were not often in a situation where a small concealed laser would be the difference between life and death. And if they were going into a situation such as that, perhaps then they would have such a gadget.

Yassen had the sense that the toys Alex was being given worked less for saving the boy's life and more for preserving the head of MI6's relief that they hadn't given a teenager a handgun.

-AR-

Yassen left without a backwards glance. Smithers licked his lips.

"Alex, I have to say," the man began. "I don't like this."

"Me neither," Alex muttered.

"I was with you when Mrs. Jones first told you about that man, and that he'd killed Ian Rider. I'd quite liked Ian Rider, and you can imagine that I was sorry to hear he wouldn't be back."

Alex felt a pang in his heart. _I liked him too_, he felt like saying.

"I don't know if you remember, but when Mrs. J showed you a picture of Yassen there, she said if you saw him you were to call HQ and get the hell out of dodge. I don't know why that's changed. I don't trust the man, myself. I'm sure the boss has her reasons, but if you need to, remember that those gadgets I gave you can be used to protect yourself from anyone. Mr. Gregorovich included."


End file.
